When my grandpa returned from World War II, he married his sweetheart. They built a house in Ranchos and my grandma gave birth to their first two children. It was hard to find work in Taos so they moved to Utah where he had a position at the army depot. They left their house but didn’t sell it immediately as they intended to return eventually. A couple of his siblings too (and other Taoseños) made the migration north.
At some point in the 80s my grandpa and one of my uncles went back to Ranchos, fixed up the house and sold it. Recently I learned they sold it to one of my grandpa’s nephews (Sonny). Sonny asked my grandpa why they were selling and he said “we aren’t going to move back, too much of the family is in Utah now and we want to be with them”. When we bought our place in Ranchos Sonny said “welcome back”.
Taos for me is a return. A return to nature from the city, to the west from the east, to the past from a dehumanized present, to family from strangers. A return of my grandparents to their home.
Utah has some good things about it (especially southern Utah) and there’s still so much family there but it also has some negative things I’d rather not surround myself with for the rest of my life. At first I thought I wanted to move back there but a few summers in Utah cured me. Heading to Taos in the middle of summer for a respite from Utah really clarified where I want to be. For my grandparents Utah was a mixed bag. Their children generally were more successful than the children of those who stayed in Taos. There was more economic opportunity in Utah overall and that may still be the case today.
My grandparents are gone. Their headstone is in Utah but their souls are in Taos. When I touch and smell adobe walls I’m with them again. When I speak and break bread with their nephews, we’re together again.
The Fiestas are this weekend and sadly, we’re away.
Viva los conquistadores! Viva la gente de Taos!
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